Left for Dead

I'm back. Sadly, the season is almost over. In fact, a few weeks ago, after some disappointing finishes at Wolf Creek and Huntsville, I had declared that I was retired -- for good. I went into retirement for about 6 days, but got bored, so decided to come out of retirement with the goal of doing a decent LOTOJA. So, last Saturday, I rode the Snowbird Hillclimb. The day after that I rode from my house, up Big Cottonwood, up Guardsman's, down to Park City, to Jeremy Ranch, to East Canyon Resort, up Big Mountain, down Emmigration, and back home. The day after that, on Monday, I rode from my house to Provo, up the Alpine Loop, over Suncrest, and back home. I rested on Tuesday, and on Wednesday on somewhat of a whim, I rode the DMV. Surprisingly, at the DMV, I had a fair amount of energy and felt ok. That's what retirement will do I guess.

The last little block of my out-of-retirement/LOTOJA prep was the Sanpete Classic, a 100 mile road race. The course doesn't suit me, but it holds a special place in my heart since I grew up in Sanpete County. In fact the pictures below of Ethan and the fish were taken at our cabin, which is close to Spring City, the start and finish of the Sanpete Classic.

The Sanpete Classic starts out with a guy yelling, "fire in the hole" and lighting off what looks to be a civil war era canon. I don't know how it got to Spring City. In any event, the canon adds to the character of the race and is something my kids look forward to. In contrast with last year when the Cat 3s raced with the Pro/1/2 group, this year we started out fairly civil. Team Vanguard was there en masse and looked strong, and I quickly understood that I would either be in a break with a Vanguard guy, or be in the field dragging some Vanguard guys around Sanpete County. So, just after Milburn, and after a Vanguard guy had been brought back, I made an acceleration and got a small gap. That didn't last long. I sat at the front for a couple minutes, and went again, knowing that there was a small climb ahead. Todd (Vanguard) and Nate came with me, and the group let us go. A few miles later, two Porcupine guys joined us, and the winning break was formed.

Since I was just coming out of retirement and had put in a hard week, I was pleasantly surprised that I was in the break. We worked well together and by 70ish miles into the race had a 5+ minute gap. I was happy and began thinking of possible ways I could get to the line before my breakaway companions. Unfortunately, things didn't play out as I hoped.

As we came into the Moroni feedzone for a second time, I grabbed a musette bag from Karen. It had two bottles and a Coke in it. I put the bag around my neck and, riding without hands, began pulling out the bottles. As I pulled out the first bottle, I saw an orange flash. Just as I saw the orange flash, I heard my bike slam into what turned out to be an orange construction barrel, and then I felt myself flying over the bars and onto the ground. After I hit the ground, I lay there for a few seconds, a bit stunned. One of my breakaway companions said my musette bag was on my face and that he thought I was unconsious. But after a few seconds, I realized that I wasn't hurt all that bad -- just a few scrapes and a bit of road rash. I hopped on the bike and started chasing after my breakaway companions. My front wheel was a bit wobbly, but as I rode, I opened up my front brake and loosened the brake cable.

I never caught my breakaway companions. And I have to admit that I was a bit bothered that they decided not to wait for me after our wheel support guy told them I was 30 seconds back and the group was over 5 minutes back. But in the end, I don't blame them and only hold a small grudge. :) I mean if a guy isn't smart enough to avoid pile-driving an orange barrel while riding a bike with no hands going 18 miles an hour, does he really deserve to be in the break? After a futile chase, I joined up with what was left of the main field and they pulled me back to the finish. Nice job to all those who were there. It was fun.

And so I'm out of retirement and looking forward to another LOTOJA. Bring out the mallet. . .

Burn out?

I like to ride my bicycle, but lately I've been a bit bored on the road bike. Maybe it's the heat. Or maybe I'm suffering from burn out. Just recently I built up a single speed 29er. So, this weekend I put the road bike aside, packed my family, flyrod, and the single speed into the Subie, and headed for our family cabin in central Utah.

Riding around the mountains on a heavy rigid steel single speed (with too high of a gear ratio) in civilian shorts (not lycra) with a backpack and a flyrod on my back not caring about watts or avg. speed was a nice, welcome change of pace. Maybe I should do it more often. Fishing with the kids was fun. Definitely need to do that more often.

Oh yeah, 29er wheels are kind of cool. They're heavy, but they do roll well. The fat 2.3 balloon tires help also. I'm going to have to attempt Dog Lake or the Crest on it one of these days.

You Mean I Can't Ride the Tour de France?

So I visited Steve Mannebach in the pulmonary lab at the University Hospital for a VO2 Max test. I had never done one, but have always wanted to. And I'm glad I did. The results will be invaluable for future training. The results also give me a baseline to see how I stack up.

So how do I stack up? Let's just say that you probably won't see me in the Tour de France. Let's just also say that I might have been able to take Lance -- right after he had just gone through chemo and while he was still bald.

To ride the Tour de France, they say you need to have a VO2 Max of at least 70 ml/kg/min. Lance had a VO2 Max of 85 ml/kg/min in his prime. Right after chemo, he had a VO2 Max of 66 ml/kg/min. The average norm for men is 40-42 ml/kg/min. "Excellent" is >56 ml/kg/min. Elite cyclists are said to have VO2 Max values between 70 and 80 ml/kg/min. The highest recorded value belongs to a nordic skier who checked in at 93 ml/kg/min. VO2 Max values can vary depending on altitude, whether the test was administered running or cycling, calibration of the machine, and whether the subject took the right dose of EPO prior to the test.

Moving on to what's really important, VO2 Max values do not necessarily dictate performance, but are very very useful. For example, it's said that Abraham Olano, a world class pro, never measured above 70 ml/kg/min, but yet had several impressive wins. Apparently there is an inverse relationship between VO2 Max and riding efficiency. Even if a person's VO2 Max is relatively low, by developing an efficient pedal stroke and by training the body to be more efficient, a person can easily compete with someone with a higher VO2 Max. Furthermore, I've heard that by increasing pedaling efficiency, one can actually increase VO2 max. The theory being that it takes additional muscles to become more efficient and if more muscles are being employed the oxygen uptake is increased. If knowing is half the battle, knowing one's VO2 Max can be useful in measuring and training one's strengths and weaknesses, i.e. becoming more efficient.

Furthermore, since it's not possible to ride at 100% of VO2 Max, performance is often dicated by the percentage of VO2 Max that is sustainable for a long period of time, i.e. LT Threshold. For some, their LT Threshold may be 90% of VO2 Max. For others, it may be 75%. Through a VO2 Max test, one can precisely determine where his LT Threshold is, which is highly trainable. Knowing where that threshold is, I will be able to focus on increasing it with the goal of increasing the maxium sustainable wattage.

Regarding the test itself, except for the Darth Vadar mask with an integrated snorkel, it's not that bad. Essentially, you pedal for between 10 and 15 minutes. Every minute or so, the machine increases the load, thus increasing your wattage, heartrate, and oxygen uptake. The test ends when you can pedal no more. In my case, when my HR hit 198, I was done.

I'm glad I took the test and would recommend to any person looking to improve their performance to take one. If you're interested in having it done at the University Hospital, you can contact Steve at 581-2240. Cost is somewhere around a well-spent $80. That cost also gets you the sweet wife-beater tank top pictured above.

PS -- The above picture kicks off the official Tan Line Contest. If you're tan line is as good (or as bad) as mine, let's see it!!

Bear Lake RR: Some Comments

Last week I made a personal resolve to stop being a whiner. So when the Bear Lake results came out and I quickly saw that on a scale of 1 to 10 -- with 1 being "Slightly Off" and 10 being "What Are You Freakin' Kidding Me?-Off" -- the so-called "results" were a perfect 10, my instinct was to be totally Zen and to not whine. After seeing the results, I quickly assumed the lotus position and began meditating, focusing on breathing, and detaching myself from the impulse to whine. Although not really Zen, I even applied positive thinking techniques like, this is just bike riding. It's a game, it's relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things, there are kids starving in China, and so on and so forth. My non-Zen, self-affirmation techniques even extended to me standing in front of a mirror and saying, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me." These techniques were quite effective with disposing of certain thoughts, which, if entertained, would surely lead to whining. Using my Zen-Stuart Smalley techniques, I disposed of thoughts like, I paid $35, raced my guts out for 100 miles, finished in or very near the top 10, but was given 26th place. I told myself that UCA points don't define my capabilities as a rider, and that it doesn't matter that forever and ever as long as the World Wide Web and the Logan Race Club Website exist that people will think I finished in 26th place at the Bear Lake Classic. I refused to criticize the race directors and the officials and told myself that they weren't incompetent, but just challenged. And I didn't give the time of day to thoughts like man, with the gazillion Asian dudes hanging around the finish, you'd think that the techy equipment would be functioning right (ok ok, look at the title of this Blog and look at the color of my hair and note that I can get away with that -- you can't). Given my personal resolve, I resolved that I wouldn't whine.

A few hours after Zenning away all my whining propensities, I made the mistake of looking at the "results" again. Let me just say that the Cat 3 results are way off, and not even close to being accurate. Being the loop-hole-finder-hair-splitter that I normally get paid to be, I convinced myself that my resolve only applies to self-centered whining and that it doesn't preclude me for whining on behalf of others. Problem solved.

So, on behalf of the many Cat 3 riders that got shafted in the so-called "results," let me officially whine. Take Connor O'Leary for example. Connor is 16 years old. He is the current Cat III UCA leader and he raced hard on Saturday. I'm sure that UCA points mean something to him. Even though Connor finished somewhere around the top 10, he was given 22nd place. If UCA points are assigned using the "results," then Connor will miss out on points that were legitimately his, and others will illegitimately get points they don't deserve. I'm certain that Connor finished well ahead of some of the people in the top 10 and nearly all the people in places 11-20.

Take Bill DeMong and Ian Tuttle as other examples. It's an honor for me to race with someone like Bill DeMong who is a three-time Olympian and who is a world class athlete. I want to keep Bill coming to the races and he should be treated right. Bill raced hard all day, doing a substantial portion of the work in reeling the break in. Likewise, Ian Tuttle was a major contributor. Both Ian and Bill weren't even given placings. They appear at the bottom with the placing "999." Nice. I know for a fact that Ian finished in or near the top 10. I was on his wheel.

I wouldn't whine without a purpose. My purpose for whining is to express first of all that the results are egregiously inaccurate. I understand that often there are relatively small errors in the results, but in the Bear Lake case, the errors in the Cat 3 placings are anything but small. At best, they represent a random attempt to assign riders placings, based on a few officials' observations and notes as 40 riders came flying across the line at 30 mph. Sure, the results for the top 5 might be correct, but what about the rest of the 40+ riders? Which brings me to my second point.

My second point is that because the errors in the "results" are so large -- because the "results" really aren't the true results -- it would be unfair for the UCA to award points based on the inaccurate "results." Advocating this may very well get me attacked at the next shootout (actually, that happens anyway), but face it, it's simply not fair to give points to undeserving riders and deprive deserving riders of their hard-earned points. Yes, it's unfortunate that the top 5 riders may be deprived of their points, but it is equally unfortunate that people like Connor, Ian, and Bill will be deprived of their points. It simply would be irresponsible for the UCA to award points based on results that may well have been obtained by using a powerball machine. Perhaps the best the UCA can do is award everyone some "participation points." And since the UCA bylaws don't address this issue, the UCA should consider including a rule like this: if the results suck, no UCA points can be given. Didn't that happen with the Sundance Hillclimb last year?

My third and final point is that the UCA should not award points based on the faulty "results" because to do so would condone and turn a blind eye to the recurring results problem. It would be to essentially make a statement that it's ok for race promoters and race officials to take racers' money, encourage participation in the race, promise prizes, but then utterly fail to have the procedures in place to insure accurate results. To be dramatic (think the last scene of Braveheart), the UCA should use the day that riders raced for 100 miles but were deprived of accurate results to promote and insure accurate results in the future. The sting of racing 100 miles and not getting UCA points will be enough that promoters who must ultimately answer to the UCA and the riders will take special care to have the right people and equipment at the finish line. And to be majorly dramatic, here's to hoping that the day that racers raced for 100 miles but were deprived of results and the fame and glory attendant with such results will be remembered as the last day of its kind.

(And for the record, none of the Zen/Stewart Smalley stuff really happened. Give me some credit, I'm not that lame.)

Tour of the Gila

It's been awhile. Over the last few weeks I've been busy training for the Tour of the Gila, a five day stage race. I put in a pretty hard month leading up to the Gila. Since I had never done a 5 day stage race, I didn't know quite what to expect. I asked people (like Rob) who had done it before and they gave me helpful pointers, like ride lots of hills. So I rode lots of hills. But even though I built up some decent fitness, I wasn't prepared for the Gila.

My next statement should be tempered by the fact that I've only been seriously road racing for a little over two years. The Statement: the Tour of the Gila was by far the hardest race I've ever done. Of course, it was probably the most rewarding race I've done -- simply because I finished. Some of the highlights underlying the Statement are as follows:

Highlight 1: The TT

Day 1 was a 16 mile TT with "hills." The first 3-4 miles were a steady uphill climb, steepening toward the top. Since the Pros went off first, we positioned ourselves at the top of the first climb and watched the likes of Moninger, Baldwin, O'Neil, Bajadali, Swindlehurst, Creed big-ring it up the climb, even the steep part. Note that because of the fast downhill finish, most everyone was using a 55 or a 56 tooth ring.

I started my TT with a big ring. I figured that if the Pros need to big ring it to get as fast time, that's what I needed to do. So I big ringed it up the climb -- actually not all the way up. At about mile 3 or 4, as I was beginning to bog and as my HR was about to touch 190, I had a revelation: I am not a Pro. Quickly, I shifted down to my 39 ring and tried to go hard and recover at the same time, which is somewhat like smiling and frowning at the same time.

When you are suffering during an all-out 40 minute effort, all of the sudden you have odd regrets, like man I wish I wouldn't have eaten that bag of Hot Tamales yesterday, OR I should have shaved my legs -- how much time am I giving up by having stubble? OR I should have covered the valve hole on my disc wheel. You also make odd committments, some of which included, I am never going to eat sugar again and am going to lose 30 pounds, OR I'm going get a coach, OR I'm never going to get on the bike again.

One of the cool things about the Gila is that in a couple stages you ride the same course as the Pros. One of the not so cool things about the Gila is that you get to compare your times to the best. As a point of reference, Nathan O'Neil's (the Aussie TT Champ) TT time was about 33 minutes. My time, ahem, was about 42 minutes.

Highlight 2: The Climbs

Every stage, including the TT and Crit stages, had hills in them. The road race stages had some pretty serious climbs in them. After the beating I took in the TT, I resolved that I would give it everything I had on Day 2, which had a steep uphill 5 mile finish. On Day 2, I conserved until the end and as soon as we hit the steep climb, launched an attack. This was, perhaps, the most beautiful moment of the whole race because for a few seconds I was off the front, away from the pack, and I had an open road in front of me. It's just too bad that this moment only lasted a few seconds. Shortly after my Valverde-like attack, a group of 10 or 15 riders bridged up. At this point, the moment was still beautiful because there was a small group of us that had cleared the peloton. Things got a bit uglier after that. You can only ride in the red so long, and I learned that my red was only several of the riders' green. As I rode the longest mile of my life, I helplessly watched as other riders rode ahead of me to the finish. I finished 21st that day.

Day 3 and Day 5 also had large climbs in them. Day 3 came as the biggest surprise. It is called the "Inner Loop" race and because it doesn't have an uphill finish or isn't named the "Gila Monster," I didn't give it the respect it deserved. Day 3's race opened up with a very serious climb, one that I was not prepared for. At one point, we were going up a 5% grade going over 20 miles an hour. We had been going all-out for a solid half hour and there were probably only 30 of us left. About this point, I had a full-scale mental meltdown. As we were flying up the grade, I looked at my HR, which read 186 bpm. I thought, wow, I don't know if I can sustain this any longer. Then I looked up and saw a sign that said "1 mile to go to Feed Zone." I thought, 1 mile? And then I remembered yesterday's long mile and my confidence began to crumble. Then I looked over at someone's speedometer, and I think I saw "23 mph." Whether I saw that or not, didn't matter, because since that's what I thought I saw, I thought that's too fast, I definitely can't sustain this. And then I looked ahead and the road steepened. At that point, I crumbled and shot straight out the back. On refelection, I don't know how much was physical or mental -- probably both -- but I'd like to have that moment back to see whether I could hold on.

The consequences of the Meltdown were severe. Since the climb came in the first 20 miles of the race and the race was 70+ miles, that meant that I was off the back, chasing for 30-40 miles. The chase hurt. In fact, it made Day 3 the hardest race I'd ever done. To top things off, after chasing for a solid two hours, I finally caught back on to the group. Just as I began to bask in the comfort of the peloton (about 2 minutes), we hit a climb with a brutal headwind. Since the chase had taken its toll, I went straight out the back again, and had to ride the last 20 miles, which was comprised of three climbs, into a brutal headwind.

Un-Highlight 3: Allergies

On Day 2, I had a weird allergic reaction. Since I had similar reactions living in Las Vegas, I wondered if I am allergic to something in the Southwest desert. In any event, my allergies made things miserable. I took three kinds of antihistamines and after Day 2 had to lie in bed the rest of the day with tissue stuck up my nose. The days after that were complicated by the allergies, and during several parts of the races, I was racing on one nostril. Luckily though, when the adrenaline level my my heartrate picked up, the allergic symptoms would subside so that they were tolerable. My solution to the allergies: ride hard.

Highlight 4: The Crashes

I saw (and experienced) several crashes throughout the week. Perhaps the most unfortunate one was experienced by Matt, who I rode down and roomed with, on Day 2. The guys in front of him weren't paying attention, crossed wheels and caused a pile-up. I watched one rider ride straight into the pile up and launch Superman-style right over the handlebars. I suspect that rider's bike was stopped by one of Matt's body parts.

Because of the wicked climbs in the Gila, there are also wicked descents. I lost my nerve a couple times and was unable to take the switchbacks at speed. On one switchback on the final stage, I completely lost it. I had just attacked a group of 10 riders, had bridged up to a group of 2 riders, and we were working hard to stay away from the group behind us. Going around a switchback, I took a turn too wide and too fast. There came a point where I had 1 of 2 options. Option 1 was to try to turn the bike, but risk sliding out and laying the bike and me down. Didn't want to do that. Option 2 was to take a straight line and hope that I could keep the bike up. I took Option 2, and took a straight line off the edge of the road, fully locked up my brakes, careening through the gravel and bushes, and came to a rest in front of a large boulder. As I came to a stop, I unclipped, lifted my bike over my head, climbed up the enbankment, just in time to join the group of 10 that I had just attacked. I don't know if they were happy, but they surely were amused to see me.

In conclusion, I was thrilled just to have finished the race. I ended up 32nd on GC (out of 75 who started). During the race I swore that I would never do it or anything like it again. . . . I'm already planning for next year.

White Rim, Part II

Chapter 6: Murphy's Hogsback

There are three major climbs on the White Rim Trail. The first comes at about 50 miles and is called Murphy's Hogsback. And yes, it really is as steep as it looks (see pic above). I was a bit startled by the climb. After cruising for miles and miles on flat road, all of the sudden I looked up, and there was this road leading into the sky. I kind of chuckled at the sight of it. My amusement was quickly diffused by the necessity of shifting into the granny and figuring out a way to make it up the climb. For some reason, I was driven to clean the hill -- to ride it without unclipping. And although at one point I think I was perpendicular to the hill, I rode it clean. I think I even saw a heartrate of 190. For a moment, I also thought I saw a unicorn. Lucky for us, we had lunch waiting for us at the top.

Chapter 7: My Hero

While we were eating lunch, we were overtaken by a solo, self-supported rider on a fully rigid single speed. Granted his bike was light, was titanium, was a 29er, and was pimped out, it was still a single speed (34x19). Single speed guy started with 170 ounces of water, took very few stops, and ended up riding the trail in 9 hours and 40 minutes. Tough.

Chapter 8: Riding Next to the Green

After descending the Hogsback, we rode for several miles next to the Green River. Unlike the first 50 miles during which we made frequent stops to see the sights, we rode the last 50 miles like we were on a mission. We lined it up and pacelined it on the trail. It was almost surreal as we cruised over slickrock and sand against the redrock backdrop, along the White Rim, which often dropped off several hundred feet, in view of the snow-capped Lasal Mountains, and next to the seemingly placid Green River. The scenery almost overshadowed the twinges of fatigue.

Chapter 9: The Death March

At about mile 90, the epicness and scenic-ness of the ride had nearly worn off and I had been lulled into grinding out the miles. I was shaken out of this mode when, again, for the third time, I looked up and was shocked to see the road climbing up a sheer redrock wall. At Hogsback, I chuckled. This time, I nearly laughed aloud. We had been riding for over seven hours, we were all fatigued, and now, awaiting us was a steep climb that switchbacked up a cliff of over 1000 feet. Again, I shifted into granny, and spun to survive. Again, lucky for us, at the top was a cooler full of soda and Gatorade. After a nice little break, we saddled up for the last time for the last leg to the cars. The last leg is a graded 15 mile dirt road that was surprisingly challenging, made so by the long miles we had put in that day. I'm not ashamed to admit that when the cars came into view, I raised my hands, pretending I had just won a Pro Tour race. I think I saw Jon shed a tear.

Chapter 10: Is a Bun a Given?

On the way home to SLC, we stopped at Wendy's. For some reason, the employees at this particular Wendy's were challenged. Aside from ignoring us, ignoring sanitary standards, overcharging us, and being unable to fulfill our order on the third try, we learned that getting a bun with your sandwich is not a given. While waiting in line, a fellow strolled in, walked up to the counter and handed the cashier a foil-wrapped sandwich, stating that it was not what he ordered. "What did you order?" the cashier asked. Fellow: "Meat, cheese, and ketchup, not a chicken sandwich" he said, exposing the chicken breast for the cashier to see. A few minutes later, the cashier handed a foil-wrapped package to the fellow, who took it, opened it, and promptly returned. "What's wrong now?" the cashier asked. "Well, there's just meat, cheese, and ketchup, and no bun." "Isn't that what you ordered? Meat, cheese, and ketchup?" Response: "I thought the bun was a given." "Oh," said the cashier, as she again reached for the foil-wrapped, bun-less package.

Epilogue

Several times this week I have had flashbacks of the White Rim ride (no unicorns though). It was undoubtedly one of the top 3 rides of my life. Many thanks to my fellow riders.

White Rim (in one day) = Epic

"To fully appreciate the White Rim Trial means embarking on a three- to four-day trip with stays in designated camping areas along the way. Some elite bikers are quick to boast of knocking of the White Rim in a single day, but they are missing the point. A White Rim trip is more than pounding out an off-road century; you can do that anywhere. You'll want the extra time to bond with the desert, to feel its pulse, and revere its wonderment. . . . [A] single-day trip is an incomprehensible feat for the average biker and one that shatters the difficulty scale."

-- Greg Bromka, Mountain Biking Utah

A bunch of us headed down south to "pound out an off-road century" -- the White Rim. Photos of our ride can be found and, if wanted, downloaded by clicking on the pic below. (Best to simply click on "Slideshow.")

April 1, 2007 -- White Rim

I'm pretty sure that all of us would agree that even though we did it in a single day, we bonded with the desert, felt its pulse, and revered its wonderment. It was nothing less than epic. It was epic in length, epic in scenery, epic in difficulty, and epic in good times. Of course, an epic ride is only so because of its epic chapters. Here are a few:

Chapter 1: The Difference Between DHL and Penske
On the drive down, we stopped at a convenience store. The store clerk and a loiterer were having a friendly conversation. Looking out the window at a large yellow truck, the clerk asked, "is that a DHL truck?" A third person quipped, "nope, it's a Penske truck." Clerk asks, "what's the difference between DHL and Penske?" Loiterer, as authoritative as Dick Cheney, says, "the diffence between DHL and Penske is that DHL is a business and Penske is a delivery company." Satisfied, the clerk said, "Oh."

Chapter 2: Three Guys Two Beds
I was somewhat of a late edition and Dave and Jon graciously offered me a place in their room, a room with two beds. Like any good friend, Jon went beyond the call of duty and offered me a place in his bed. Like any macho guy, I declined, even though the bed looked much more comfortable than my Thermarest on the floor. At 3:30 am, I tossed and turned and rearranged my sleeping bag. At 4:30 am, the bed looked pretty inviting. At 5:30 am, it was time to ride. Note to self: for rest's sake, it might make sense to double up.

Chapter 3: Shafer Trail to Musselman Arch
We rode the White Rim Trail in a counter-clockwise direction. This meant a short road ride to the Shafer Trailhead. The start was cold. I was in full on raingear. To stay warm, we set a fast pace. Ted was obviously prepared with two bananas strapped tightly to his Camelback. Jockstrap Dave (Dave earned this nickname when he told us about how he rode from SLC to Lake Powell wearing a jockstrap. He says he still has scars.), Jon, and I were in tow. The descent down Shafer to the rim was about 1000 feet. A wrong move would have meant a long tumble, and in several places, a long free fall. The picture above is the vista that greets you as you ride to the Rim.

Chapter 4: The Stunt
Musselman Arch is a natural arch that connects two cliffs on the Rim. The arch is about 10 feet across and a few hundred feet long. The arch is suspended above the ground several hundred feet. Walking across the arch gave me vertigo. I wanted to get down on my stomach and crawl across the arch. On a dare, Jon mustered up the courage to ride across the arch. Although it took a few minutes of tense dialogue between Jon and Dave, who discouraged the stunt, Jon went for it when he heard someone say that he didn't dare. A video of Jon riding across the arch is embedded in the photo album referenced above.

Chapter 5: Double Paceline on the Dirt
Most of the guys on the trip are roadies. True to our nature, we rode as such. For miles and miles, we lined it up and, as in the picture above, rode a double paceline. Although it provided shelter from the wind, I learned that dirt pacelining presents certain challenges. Mountain bike tires flip up all kinds of stuff. After getting rocks spit into my chest and sand rooster tailed into my hair, I was forced to give up some of the draft and keep my distance. Another challenge is that in a dirt paceline, it's hard to see what's in front of you. Road etiquette requires that you point out obstacles or road irregularities. This isn't possible on a bumpy technical road. I received many rock, drop off, and sand surprises.

Chapter 6: Murphy's Hogsback

To be continued . . . .